


More Than a Lover's Quarrel

by FightingForms



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: M/M, Punishment, Spanking, Strapping, Workplace Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-26 02:43:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3834049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FightingForms/pseuds/FightingForms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ben and Washington handle a disciplinary matter while negotiating a fledgling relationship and their spy ring. Neither knows the protocol for discipling a lover, or how to manage the relationship after the fact.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Than a Lover's Quarrel

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Turn Kink Meme

Abe had warned Ben that he would have to answer to Washington for the raid on Setauket, but Ben had still not expected the coldly furious chiding he was receiving from General Washington. True, the raid could not be justified militarily and he had disobeyed, but the General knew how much his father meant to him and could surely understand the need to save him if he possibly could? And the General had known he was occasionally disobedient from the outset--and even rewarded that trait occasionally!

“You didn’t mind my disobeying orders when I disobeyed General Scott!”

“Do I look like General Scott to you, Major?”

“No, Sir” Ben said, voice clipped, but he couldn’t stop the small quirk of his mouth as he recalled past “adventures” with General Washington. 

Washington noticed, and softened slightly. But not entirely. 

“What you did was foolish, Ben, and not undertaken for the national interest. Had you disobeyed orders for the greater good—even my orders—you know I would have supported you. I must punish you for this, even though you’ve come to mean more to me than—“ 

Ben had kept his gaze fixed to the floor during this speech, unwilling to see the condemnation he knew that he deserved on some level, but his eyes shot up at Washington’s last words, since he knew he had avoided the punishment he feared most—being frozen out. 

“What will you do? Assign me desk duty? Demote me?”

Washington was already shaking his head and turning away, making it difficult for Ben to hear him. “No. Your work is too valuable, especially at this juncture.”

“Then what--,” he started to ask, only to be left momentarily speechless at the sight of the strap in Washington’s hand.

Flogging. It happened nearly every day at the camp, but this was ridiculous. Ben would have to call Washington’s bluff. 

“I’ll report to the drummer for the lashes, then, Your Excellency. How many should I expect?”

Washington raised a brow. “You’re an officer, Ben. And even were you not, I could not give you to man who would take knotted rope to your back, who would bloody you.” 

“I would rather have the drummer do it. I could take—“

“I know you could. But I could not, and this is not my punishment.”

Ben wanted to ask whether Washington could not just forgive him if the matter was to stay between them. He had only just become comfortable enough with Washington to tease and be teased by him, to be completely himself. To have Washington now take a strap to him in punishment made him feel like he’d betrayed his partner as well as his commander—and that his partner and commander were in turn betraying what they shared.

And yet, Ben was used to imagining Washington as two people. It wasn’t as easy as thinking of the man as “George” in bed and “General Washington” outside of it—there was occasional overlap, as when Ben thrilled to take a request as an order under the sheets, or when he and Washington shared a smile at general orders when one or the other of them used of a word or phrase that had a private meaning between them. 

Baring his back to his lover for discipline, however, would require a more rigid separation in his mind between “George” and “Washington.” How could he go to bed with the man after this? 

Apparently his discipline was not altogether lacking, he mused, as he’d managed to contemplate his relationship and begin removing his shirt at the same time. Washington’s hand closed over his fingers, giving them a gentle squeeze. 

“There’s no need to remove your shirt, Major. Please take down your breeches.”

Ben stilled. Oh dear Lord. Not only was he being given a punishment not given to officers, but he was being given a punishment fit for children.

Washington’s hand, warm as a brand, settled on Ben’s shoulder, the one that was still slightly stiff from a bullet wound. He did not need to say anything; he trusted his gesture had informed Ben that he would never lash a man with a wounded shoulder. At least not on the back. 

“Do you think I wish to humiliate you?” Washington asked, hand still on Ben’s shoulder and radiating warmth. 

“Yes!” Ben hissed.

Washington’s hand tightened slightly. “Ben.”

Ben sighed. “No, Sir. Just—“ he broke away, unfastening his breeches and yanking them down. “Let’s get this over with.”

“You are not the aggrieved party here, Major,” Washington warned. “ I believe I understand what you feel, yet as your commander I have no choice. Because of the importance of your work, and because of other reasons of which you are aware, the options I have for dealing with you are limited. But I cannot allow you to act as carelessly as you have done without punishment, regardless of other feelings. Now, lean over the desk, and mind the maps.”

Feeling a cross between chagrined, mortified, and angry, Ben bent over. 

It had been quite some time since he’d last been whipped, and the first stroke shocked a gasp out of him. Washington wasn’t holding back much, for which he was oddly grateful. Denied a man’s punishment, he’d at least be punished at full strength. Or near it. 

As he’d done in the past when his father or schoolmasters had beaten him, he went away in his mind as much as he could, mentally reciting the Greek alphabet and trying to forget that it was his lover doing this to him. 

Sometime after the first several strokes, Ben had hazily noticed Washington’s left hand had moved to rest on his lower back. The touch was still warm. Ben found it somewhat incongruous that the man’s hands felt like an inferno when his voice almost always sounded cool and collected. While Washington probably intended for this hand’s heat to be soothing, it couldn’t compete with the fire his other hand was creating.

Eventually, Ben was able to get the Greek alphabet to dominate his awareness more than it ever had, and all bodily sensation became distant, throbbing, warmth. When it finally stopped, it was the hand rubbing his back that brought him out of his head and back to his body. 

Something in how he moved must have alerted Washington that he was coming out of the trance he had put himself into, for soon the hand stopped moving. However, it remained on his lower back, supporting him even after Washington ordered him to rise and helped him pull up his breeches. 

Ben turned, moving stiffly, and was startled to see his own awkwardness reflected on his General’s face. 

Neither said anything for a time, wondering where they would go from here. Finally, Ben broke the silence. “If you were my father, Sir, this is when you’d clap me on the shoulder, or embrace me and say that I was forgiven. And if you were my schoolmaster, you’d send me to the corner for an hour. Honestly, I hope you won’t be my schoolmaster in this scenario.”

Washington opened his arms, pulling Ben in, then stepped back and tilted Ben’s chin up, forcing him to make eye contact rather than duck his gaze, as was his wont. “You are forgiven, but I am far from your father.” He searched Ben’s eyes, as if attempting to read the future in them. “I did what I must. I know you must resent—but I hope that we—“

Ben was still aching, shaken, and indeed somewhat resentful, but unable to imagine being without Washington, and so he stopped Washington’s mouth with a kiss. 

It was a short and sweet kiss for all that it tasted of salt. Washington smiled. “I see you’re not afraid of me now, interrupting like that. Tell me, what were you most often whipped for?”

“Insubordination, Sir,” Ben said. 

“I see. Clearly it wasn’t all beaten out of you.”

“There’s still plenty left, when needed,” Ben assured Washington. 

“Yes, ‘when needed,’ Ben, and I pray for both our sakes that you have learned the difference.”

“I do too, Sir,” Ben said softly. Then, to avoid plunging them back into awkwardness, he added “Caleb will give me no end of teasing when he sees I can’t properly sit a horse tomorrow.”

“You will not be riding out with Brewster, though it would serve you right. You will remain here and help me woo the French.”

“While you woo me?”

“If you’ll let me.”


End file.
